all things temporary
by oh's pity party
Summary: when he sucks at promises and she realizes to late. —hiccup & rapunzel. modern au.


**[** A _LL THINGS TEMPORARY_ **]**

 _(_ _p_ _ermanency_ _has_ _always_ _been_ _a_ _lie_ _._ _he_ _knows_ _that_ _,_ _but_ _doesn't_ _tell_ _her_ _.)_

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 **[ ten / new beginnings ]**

There's something about her that he's always noticed, but still doesn't _really_ _notice_ : she has a golden aura, glowing off her hair, her skin, her eyes, and her heart. So, no matter what, whenever he draws her, Hiccup would always stare at the finished project like he'd just ruined the entire reason of her, why she was the sun, why she gave life to everything around her.

(She'd sneak into his notebook every time because knowing him, he'd throw away whatever drawings he didn't like. And knowing her, she'd keep them no matter how many reasons he had to justify the injustice of his artwork.

But that was before he decided to throw his dreams into the flames of the fireplace downstairs, thinking that would burn off the pressure.)

Rapunzel hands him back his notebook when he's staring out the window of his bedroom, his mind drifting through the rain clouds. She grabs his wrist and presses his fingers—which are engulfed by the warmth of hers—along the spine of the glossy book. There's that smell of fresh plastic and a whole new adventure.

He notices a few things through this interaction.

He notices the black permanent-marker swirls and doodles of suns and patterns decorating her hands. He notices the faint smell of cigarette smoke that usually lingers on her isn't there anymore.

"Don't lose this one," she tells him, faintly smiling because there always seems to be hope carrying her heart even with the littlest things.

He doesn't have the heart to look at her. But his lungs still burn. "I won't."

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 **[ three / the reunion ]**

"Oh my gods— _Hiccup_?"

He's sitting alone at the back of the art room, where the sunlight shines through the back windows and the teacher doesn't spare a second glance. It's easier for him this way. Safer. He can't knock down any paint cans from back there.

If a faint outline of a chameleon hadn't crawled onto his paper, blending in with the white surface, he wouldn't have noticed Rapunzel a first time, even with the incredibly long golden hair and flower crown.

(To this day, he still doesn't understand those things. Diamonds and jewels would look way better. But her love for the simple things is what he's always admired about her. Correction— _one_ of the things he admires about her.)

She giggles, collecting the little reptile in both hands, then placing the little guy on her shoulder. Just like when they were in second grade, she has no shame at all. Chameleon on her shoulder, flowers in her hair, the absence of shoes upon her feet (like right now)—nothing was wrong with that. At least to her.

(At least to him.)

"Remember me?"

And there they are; the permanent marker designs swirling around her slender fingers. How could he not remember?

He laughs. "Wow. You . . . haven't changed at all."

Her head tilts to the side, eyes narrowing just a bit, and she's staring beyond his forest green eyes. "Neither have you."

That look has always meant something. He still doesn't know what though.

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 **[ eight / the movie ]**

She calls him, asking if he's free, and it's no coincidence that she just came back into town and the new Hunger Games movie just came out. He's had two tickets hiding in the back of his bookshelf ever since she left. It'll be a surprise.

(He's never really been a fandom geek, but she won't shut up about Hogwarts or _which divergent faction would you be?_ so it's a nice little celebratory event for the both of them.)

When she climbs into his green truck, the smell of cigarette smoke is way too obvious.

So, "You okay?" is the first thing he says to her—not _hi_ or _hey_ or _there's paint on your jeans_ because there always was. She glares at him (well, glare wouldn't quite be correct—more like locking eyes with a soul burning so bright it makes her spring green eyes flare), and he could see the aftermath of internal wars in her eyes. Nodding in response, she doesn't speak.

At least, not until he reveals the tickets. All at once, her eyes widen and her jaw drops and her arms are around him as he tries to focus less on the lingering noxious chemicals and more on the warmth.

"I love you I love you I love you," she chants.

He convinces himself that her inner fangirl and the toxins just got to her head.

(Either way: _love you, too_ , he thinks.)

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 **[ four / the lies ]**

Too many (useless) plans. Too many (meaningless) dreams. Only one (designated) future.

Being an architect or an inventor or an artist wasn't that future. At least, according to his father.

But that's not the reason why he's watching all his daydreams and night thoughts and any remnants of his imagination burn into charred pages and embers. The pressure on his chest has finally cracked and crushed his ribcage, and that beating organ is finally pierced and stolen with the flames that consumed his notebook.

"What happened?" Rapunzel—the one who has all these crazy talents and every door of opportunity open on her command and bright eyes for whatever comes next in life because her optimism shines through literally everything and anything—asks. She's by his desk, what used to be his 'little bubble', before _what do you want to do for a living?_ crashes the party.

Panicking a bit, thrown off by the vague question, he decides to play dumb. "Uh, I'm—I'm not completely sure what you're referring to."

She purses her lips with a slightly raised brow, but there's emotion behind the skepticism. "Your notebook. It's not here."

He wonders when she'll just decide to keep his whole notebook since he doesn't like any of his drawings anymore. But that's only if he gets a new one, and he hasn't planned that far.

(He wasn't feeling this _growing up_ thing.)

"Lost it," he says with a shrug.

(Not at all.)

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 **[ nine / the funeral ]**

Her mother dies from lung cancer. His father dies in a car crash. It's a sad week for both them.

He tries not to notice when she cries for her mom, and breaks down for his dad.

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 **[ one / the cancer ]**

The first thing he's ever said to her was, "You know, you can get skin cancer from that," because she drew little flowers and abstract symbols when her mind would drift and he's always been distracted by the smell of permanent marker ever since she walked through their classroom door with a flower crown. So it just made sense to tell her.

But then it didn't when she looked at him surprised, looked back at her arm decorated with black swirls and daisies, then looked back at him with enough hurt in her eyes to make his jaw drop slightly.

Goddammit, Hiccup.

"I mean, you don't automatically have skin cancer now, but if you continue do it, you might . . ." and he trails off when her expression doesn't change. It's something similar to when you tell a child that unicorns don't exist. It was like he destroyed her innocence.

Figures; he destroys a lot of things.

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 **[ five /** **the** **fireworks ]**

He starts to question where they stand, but it's pointless trying to figure it out. She'll brush her lips against his neck when they hug and will be dating someone else the next day.

Because, yeah, he's always had this 'thing' for her. But, at the same time, whatever that 'thing' was didn't make him feel any nervous when their hands would touch as they fight over art supplies or make him feel any jealousy when she'd link to an arm that wasn't his.

(Guys and girls, years older and years younger, you name it—he's never felt jealous. In fact, he never felt the need to feel anything about it, other than just being happy for her.)

When it's New Year's, and all of their friends and family members are buzzing about at the fireworks concert, she looks at him with something fierce.

Under the loud crackles of fireworks, the booming baseline, and the thumping of two hearts, they share their first kiss.

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 **[ seven / the break up ]**

It just does feel . . . right. It's not _them_.

(It's odd though, cause she's always had a bit of _hopeless romantic_ in her. It doesn't seem to apply to him and he can't seem to figure out why.)

The break off is mutual. No crying or disappointment. None of that. It's just really static-y over the phone and Rapunzel never liked that. But with her out of town, it's the only way.

(He never did say goodbye.)

He hangs up first, oblivious to the words _I love you_ slipping past chapstick lips after the line is cut.

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 **[ six / the killing ]**

He climbs through her apartment window one Friday evening when she hasn't shown up for school in about a week, which almost drove him crazy.

Her room is as colourful and artistic as her, with the walls coated in murals of nature and paint cans piled in the corner. But without the sunlight flowing through and her golden aura to brighten things up, there's nothing to make you _feel_.

Hiccup deliberately allows Toothless to tag along in order to make her smile, because she can't contain herself when it comes to animals. So when she's sitting at the side of her bed, staring at her permanent marker hands, Toothless crawls into the warm familiarity of her lap, and she . . . smiles.

(A bit.)

It seems as though the smoky stench of rotting lungs and a blackening heart wafts into her room, and he wonders if she's aware secondhand smoke is just as bad. He bites his tongue because he's already learned not to say stuff like that.

(Now, if only he could prevent the aftereffect, because it seems to stem more from his existence than just his actions.)

Toothless is purring under the grooming movements of her hand, and the cat seems to cuddle closer to her when he senses just the slightest bit of stiffness in her fingers.

"Why is she killing herself?" could barely be heard from her habit of mumbling. But he knows.

He wraps his arm around her, and as she cries into her chest, he pictures sunlight in hope for tomorrow.

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 **[ two / the companions ]**

Basically, pets weren't allowed at school. So they have the same sense of rebellion.

(They've always been rebellious in a way—it's not that they were delinquents, or part of _the wrong crowd_. They just had a few things against society.)

He spots the chameleon blending in with the discarded Crayola crayons pushed off to the side of his desk. Kind of. Either way, Toothless is the first one to notice him, and he's forcing the cat's head back into his backpack when he hisses too loudly.

That's when her queue is, as she's rushing up to his desk to fetch her chameleon back. Just as she snatches Pascal up in her little fingers, her eyes lock with his, and she has that same hurt expression as before.

Hiccup doesn't really feel bad, but he does feel a tad awkward, so he glances at the little reptile in her fingers and says, "I won't tell."

She glances at the still-hissing cat inside his bag, Hiccup's palm frozen on its furry head. "I won't either."

Just before she walks away: "Why're you sitting all the way back here?"

He shrugs, despite being a hundred percent sure of the reason. "Safer."

(Later on she returns to talk to him. She finds him and his drawings interesting. They're only six, but they have a lot to talk about, like the abnormal mysteries of abstract art pieces and missing parents that always felt more like concepts then real life situations. _We'll find them together_ , she says, holding out her pinkie as if it was a promise. He doesn't think much of it when he hooks his pinkie around hers. _Uh_ _,_ _yeah_ _,_ _sure_ _._

She's by his side all the time after that. It's not another promise, he knows, but his heart can't help it.)

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 **[ eleven / the goodbye ]**

She's leaning against her pale blue car parked outside his house, waiting for him to say the goodbye he doesn't want to say.

(Where did the time go?)

When he walks outside, he's still holding the house phone. And Toothless is trailing on his heels, following him everywhere he goes. A ghost of a smile appears on his lips when he sees the flower crown and bare feet.

"I ran out," she replies when he asks about her hands. He doesn't ask if she meant markers or ink. It's not important.

(There was a time he could've sworn they were just tattoos. He even entertained the idea that the ink could shape shift. Maybe permanent marker isn't so permanent.)

There's no mystery behind her leaving, he's just not sure why she waited until now.

"My biological parents are out there."

He bites his lip. Nods. Breathes.

"You'll find them," he says. "I know you will." Because he's always had hope for her and he'll always have hope for her and he's not going to stop now.

She smiles a genuine smile, pulling him into a hug. Laughs. Cries. Barely breathing.

 _We'll find them together._

(At least there's no cigarette smoke. Not anymore.)

When she pulls away, he stares at the house phone still in his hand, and once again, he decides to keep his mouth shut. She brings up Harry Potter to cause another little mini argument because something has to feel normal just before she leaves.

"I love you, Hiccup," she says, just before she drives off, and it reminds him of a sunset as she drives down the road. Finally, he _really notices_ the golden aura, glowing in every direction, dimming as she drives away.

He's never said it back.

(Either way: _I love you, too_ , he thinks, before calling back the person he was talking to. He sits there on the curb until she picks up.

"Hey, mom.")


End file.
